Time Marches On
by tommorusso
Summary: Twenty-two years after the war against Voldemort, both wizarding and muggle worlds have changed almost beyond recognition. When a new threat rises, how will the generations old and new respond? Post-war, worldwide magic, other traditions, Hallows. Work in progress, suggestions and advice gratefully accepted.


Hermione Jean Weasley woke several minutes before her alarm spell sounded for the seventh day in a row. She had hoped that she would be able to enjoy a few late mornings while on holiday celebrating the twentieth anniversary of her marriage, but it seemed that her rational mind was too hard-wired after all her years in the ministry to relent.

Maybe it was just something to do with the time difference. She rolled over in bed, planning to cuddle up to Ron in an attempt to get other hours sleep, but found the other side of the bed empty.

Words in fiery red floated a few inches in front of her eyes which took a moment to focus.

"Too hot – couldn't sleep, didn't want to wake U, gone for a swim. XRX"

Hermione smiled and stretched in the bed. The sky out of the window was just starting to turn to Ravenclaw blue but the temperature must have already been thirty degrees. She threw the Egyptian cotton bed sheet off and rolled out of bed, drawing a quick breath as her bare feet touched the cold marble floor. Her toes and fingers clicked as she rolled and stretched her body into compliance and padded, naked around the bed and into the bathroom.

Stepping out of the shower five minutes later, she was immensely glad to have chosen a muggle hotel; there were so few luxurious showers in the wizarding world, mainly due to the fact that many of them used magic to clean themselves. She didn't consider herself much of a traditionalist, but her enjoyment of baths and showers was a pleasure she had never forgotten.

She stepped in front of a floor to ceiling mirror and examined herself. A quick charm told her that she had gained two-hundred grams following the previous night's meal and who knew how much wine and that her electrolytes and sodium were particularly out of balance. Her hair, magically straightened the previous night, had returned to its normal wildly thick curls. She was very proud that, unlike both Ron and her parents, she hadn't even a hint of grey. The fine, almost invisible lines around her eyes annoyed her, as well as the fact that she now needed magic or glasses to read. Her skin was still good, though she felt that it didn't look as full as it had, but a good meal would take care of that.

Her shoulder s were still straight and lean and her collarbones faintly visible. Careful eating and exercise meant that her breasts, waist and hips had withstood the onslaught of motherhood, remaining toned and slim – a brief mental image of herself as large as Molly sent a shiver of near-horror down her spine.

She paused at her legs. She had always hated her legs, the knees in particular. She had always thought her legs too long for her body – only Ron's insistence over the years had stopped her experimenting with taking an inch or two off them – and her knees seemed too knobbly. She knew, deep down that she was being nit-picky and made herself stop.

'You're in great shape for your age.' She said to herself, turning and looking at her back in the mirror.

She was very proud of her bottom: despite her relatively sedentary job at the ministry and self-admitted over-reliance on magical transportation, it was still firm and small. All told, not bad for a thirty-nine year old.

She axxio'd her wand to her from the bedside table and cast spells to clean her teeth, remove any hint of hair from scalp down and to protect her skin from the sun that would otherwise turn her into a red ruin in minutes before returning to the bedroom and selecting clothes.

She chose a floor-length dress of specially treated pale red linen which was designed to keep her cool by wicking away sweat and even excess body heat. Summoning the television remote to her, she turned on the television and saw that temperatures in Alexandria were expected to hit forty-nine degrees today, which helped her choose that the only other things she would wear was a small and dainty thong, three pairs of earrings and a pair of bangles: one bearing both the crests of Gryffindor and the DA and the other a string of beads with a small square of material attached which bore an undetectable extension charm which acted as a combined handbag, strong-box and vault which held that other thing. Finally, she cinched a thin belt around her waist; the belt had a small pouch which held her mobile phone – the only thing she carried with her that couldn't go into the bangle without being ruined.

She opted for no makeup except for a quick spell to tame her hair into a loose pony-tail, checked herself in the mirror again and smiled, satisfied.

Looking at the clock she saw that it was now almost eight am and there was still no sign of Ron. She opened the doors to the balcony and inhaled the hot morning air. Stepping out she beheld the incredible sight of the bustling city centre of Alexandria, Egypt. She leaned on the rail, looking down the thirty floors to the ground where the roads were already busy and considered simply leaving Ron a note and apparating to Aman's Steppes – the Egyptian equivalent of London's Diagon Alley – but decided against it. She would give him five more minutes before going to breakfast in the restaurant without him.

She lowered herself onto a couch in the sun, remarking on the changes that had taken place in the muggle world over the last few years. Just a few years ago, Egypt was an Islamic state where as now, Egyptian Paganism or Kemetism had made a huge resurgence. Expression of magic in all muggle families had exploded since 2006 to the point that now, almost one in three-thousand children being born world-wide had magical potential. The complications for the magical community had been traumatic – many of the countries that worked to suppress the abilities of young magicians could no longer pass their powers off as devil-worship or possession. The International Confederation of Wizards had been forced just last year to take action against several nations in order to ensure the protection of youngsters expressing magical potential. Africa, with its long and bloody history of hunting down "witches" and torturing, mutilating and murdering them had become a major problem.

But she was on holiday and this was no time to think of such things.

She watched the traffic for a while longer until her phone started ringing.

'Hermione Weasley.' She answered, lifting it to her ear, unable to see the caller ID because of the sun.

'Morning Hermione, how was dinner?' Harry Potter asked. He was breathing heavily, on another of his faddy stay-in-shape schemes no doubt.

'Good morning, Harry. It was lovely; thank Ginny for sorting the restaurant out for us?'

'Ginny? She had nothing to do with it!' Harry panted.

'Come on, Harry: you expect me to believe that Ron chose that place? It was far too nice.'

'Fair point, I'll tell her. How's Egypt?'

'Beautiful and very busy. It's six am there Harry, what're you doing up?'

'Going for a run, I'm starting to get a bit of a paunch; at this rate I'll be as tubby as Ron by new year!'

Hermione couldn't help laughing; Ron hadn't adjusted to the executive life well. He had gained at least a stone since stepping down from active auror duties in 2017 and he had developed a very un-Weasley-like gut that was regularly commented on by his brothers. Even so, Harry was still as slender as his own wand. 'Don't overdo it, Harry, we're not seventeen anymore, you know?'

'You might not be! I'll show you. Is Ron there?'

'No, he left me a note saying he couldn't sleep in the heat and that he's gone for a swim. No indication of where or at what time. Normally I'd just assume it was the hotel pool, but given that it's Ron he might have gone anywhere.'

'He'll show up, tell him to get in touch when you see him, okay? Nothing urgent, just work as usual.'

'Will do, speak to you soon, give the kids my love.'

'Will do, bye.'

She put the phone back in the pouch and sighed. She had been working closely with Harry and Kingsley over the last six months ahead of the old man stepping down from his position of Minister for Magic ahead of his sixtieth birthday which was just five months away. She had been reluctant to leave Harry with their combined workload, but The-Man-Who-Won had insisted she go on holiday.

She stood and put the mobile in the pouch before returning to the hotel room and dispelled Ron's obvious message which would undoubtedly surprise the maids. She quickly created her own message which would read:

Ron,

I waited for you but wanted to explore, I have my mobile with me so just call when you get back. I've gone to have a look at Aman's Steps. DO NOT take your broomstick out: you don't have clearance here.

See you soon,

All my love, Hermione.

The message wouldn't appear until Ron himself walked into the room and the spell would alert her when he read it. She quickly added disillusionment charms to the more obviously magical parts of their luggage such as their broomsticks. Finally, she threw a wrap over her shoulders and leaving the hotel room, heading toward the elevator.

The guard in the elevator was a very tall and handsome African in a pristine starched white dinner jacket and cap, both of which bore the hotel's emblem.

'Reception, madam?' he asked, his accent a rich Zimbabwean.

'Please.'

The elevator was fast and smooth, arriving at ground level in less than ten seconds before opening on the huge, open plan reception hall clad in gold-veined brown marble that shone, reflecting the morning light and making every surface glow. She tipped the elevator attendant and walked out into the hot morning air, quickly casting a wand-less and invisible air-filtering charm to remove the pollution from the air she breathed. Pollution in Britain had been plummeting in recent years since the advent of high-quality electric cars and even major cities were now being awarded clean air awards. Egypt, it seemed, had yet to catch on to the trend.

Stepping down onto the street she held out her left arm and a rickshaw taxi screeched to an immediate halt next to her. She climbed aboard and gave the driver directions to the street from which she would gain access to Aman's Steps. With a nod the driver launched himself into motion and into the morning traffic.

After fifteen minutes they had travelled less than a mile due to traffic, so she paid the driver of the rickshaw and decided to make the journey on foot. She crossed the street and sighed as she saw that the hotel was still visible in the distance. Flicking a piece of grit from her sandal, she felt the mental signal that Ron had read the message. As she turned back to look at the hotel there was a bright flash and the hotel blossomed out into a vast fireball.


End file.
